Page 84 of His Black Onyx

Chapter 43

Malia

Nate hasn't said a word ever since we stepped inside the house. He keeps his lips pressed into a thin line, a deep crease between his eyebrows and a shadow cast over his worried expression. He looks pale weak in a way I have never seen him before.

It aches to see him like this. Every time I look at him, it feels like a tiny dagger is pinching at my chest, leaving marks on me just like the rope did. And as saddening as these little imprints may be, they make me feel closer to him.

"Her heart gave out twice."

The middle-aged man who greets us with these words is a new face to me. I haven't seen him before, but assume him to be a doctor, given the fact that he's surrounded by medical supplies and is standing closest to Lailah's bed. He's holding one of those machines that send electric currents to the heart when it gives out. I've seen them on TV before, but never in real life. The sight of it is terrifying, causing me to swallow dryly

"She's dying," George comments from the other side of the room. The big bellied man is standing in a corner far away from Lailah's bed, next to the window. And just like Nate, he looks deeply pained and troubled, but eager to suppress these emotions.

"She's breathing for now," the doctor says, his eyes resting on the unconscious Lailah. "But there's not much I can do for her at this point. Her body is giving out."

He scans the room, with an apologetic expression on his face.

"I'm sorry," he says when his eyes meet the boss. "I think we'll have to prepare for the worst tonight."

"We've been preparing for it for months," George says, sounding harsh and almost angry. "It's been coming."

He clears his throat, turning away from the rest of the room as his gaze journeys to the window, seemingly interested in the landscape outside.

Grief already cloaks the entire room with its heavy coat, making it hard to breathe, hard to speak, hard to do anything but just stand there in disbelief. The doctor keeps treating Lailah, measuring her pulse, controlling her IV and checking her eyes with a tiny flashlight. Mike clears his throat next to us, and then heads for the door. It's just us, the doctor and Big George now, but I know there are other people in the house, because I can hear their muffled voices through the door.

And all of us are doing just one thing: waiting for Lailah to die.

Nate is standing next to me, so close that I can feel the warmth of his body and sense the tension that makes him stand stiffly and curl his hands into fists. He seems furious, as if he's hardly keeping it together, suppressing the urge to punch somebody's face in.

I can feel him relax a little when I reach for his hand, my fingers gently enclosing his strained fist as much as I can. He refuses to look at me, his eyes still locked on Lailah while his hand opens, seeking mine in support as our fingers intertwine tenderly.

"Oh, hello there," the doctor says, surprise coloring his voice while he leans over Lailah, who has just opened her eyes. She doesn't move, just drowsily meets the doctor's gaze and still looking more dead than alive.

"Is she awake?" Nate wants to know. "Or is this-"

He stops speaking when Lailah's gaze travels over to him, providing an unexpected answer to his question. He pulls me with him when he approaches the bed in two wide and hurried steps, while Big George does the same, coming from the other direction.

I don't know how to feel, being pushed back and forth between conflicting emotions. I feel useless and like a disturbance on one hand, sad and worried on the other—and jealous and neglected in a way that makes my stomach turn. I hate feeling this way, because it feels so misplaced.

I don't want to feel jealous, and I know it's not warranted, especially because Nate and Lailah were never an item. But they were friends, and partners in a way, working closely together on something that I'm still trying to understand. They've spent so much time together and share a history that I could never compete with.

But why would I even want to? I'm just a tool to him, a tool he has cruelly taken when he decided he needed it. He will be done with me, once all of this is over—and I will be done with him.

I should be.

I can't forget about all of this, even now when he's squeezing my hand in need for support, seemingly holding on to the person he needs most in this moment of hardship.

"Lailah, can you speak with us?" the doctor asks in a whisper, leaning in to her closely.

Lailah grimaces, looking pained as she tries to respond. At first, there's nothing but a croak, a hoarse sound that barely sounds human.

The concern is clear as day on the doctor's face, despite her efforts. He casts Nate an apologetic look.

"I can't do this again," he says, nodding toward the machine that has restarted Lailah's heart twice. "I won't. It wouldn't do any good."

Nate nods in understanding, while Big George holds on to the foot of the bed, doing the same as his face contorts in agony.

"Should I... leave?" I ask in a low voice, looking up at Nate.

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